‘Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of the Night’

Staring out up into the abundance of stars and making wishes between my visible breaths,
Watching how my whispered words fogged up the window-
Then disappear like thoughts,
My hands are empty, and the fingertips are cold,
Pressing them gently against my skin- sending shivers like ripples over a calmed sea.
My favourite book lies face down on the sill, unable to pick it up, but unable to put it away
The sad amber streetlight illuminates the unmade bed- the empty bed
The bed for one.
Me
Hands flickering over the phone like skaters on ice rinks, but I can’t find anything to watch.
Hesitantly hovering over your number –not pressing call.
I’ll just let you sleep…
Reluctant and defeated curling up in icy sheets,
The stars still twinkle softly and the streetlight just went out,
Dreams are doubtful –nightmares likely
It’s sometime between 2 and 3 –
And I’m laying here wishing you had called me.

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